


When I Call

by Catchclaw



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Intersex Loki (Marvel), M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), Romantic Fluff, Schmoop, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “There are times,” Thor said, “when I don’t think I want to be king.”





	When I Call

“There are times,” Thor said, “when I don’t think I want to be king.” 

Loki’s hands stilled in his hair. “Are there.” 

The answer stuck in Thor’s throat. He watched the fire for a moment, lost his eyes in the light from the hearth, and eased back, let his neck rest against the edge of his brother’s chair, his body nestle between Loki’s knees. “More and more frequently as the day approaches.”

A tug at a plait, a stroke, and Loki’s fingers were moving again, smoothing their way through the disarray he had made of Thor’s curls. “Such trepidation,” he said, “is understandable. Perhaps even to be expected.”

“Perhaps.”

Loki’s thumb caught the curve of Thor’s ear. “You sound unpersuaded.”

“I’ve trained the whole of my life for it. It seems…unnatural to shy away from it now.” 

“Unnatural? Hardly. You may have trained your whole life for it, but that’s a very different thing than facing down the reality.” His palms fell to Thor’s shoulders and he ducked down, pressed a kiss to the top of Thor’s head. “It is eminently logical, such fear.”

“That’s just it,” Thor said, his voice barely rising above the flames. “Yes. I’m scared.”

Loki’s long arms slid around his neck and he lifted his own to meet them, tangled their fingers and held on to his dear brother, tight. “Oh my darling,” Loki murmured. “Of course you are.” 

Like a night wind, a whisper, Loki shifted; he spread his knees and drew himself to the edge of his seat so Thor’s head lay cradled in his thighs. The rivers of midnight silk that made up his robe tumbled over Thor’s arms, tangled there, and the smell of his brother’s sex and Thor’s own spend rolled with them, made his sleepy cock stir.

“What would you do if you were not almost-king?” Loki asked. “Join the praetorian guard? Become a poet? Run off and raise beasts in the field?”

“I have no idea.”

“Escape to another realm, maybe? Hmm. Fool around on Midgard? Become an honorary Light Elf?” He snickered. “I’ve seen the way their queen looks at you. You’d live a fine life at her side.”

“Would I?”

“Ah, yes. Endless parties in dappled sunshine and sweet nights of honeywine and lovemaking to the sound of butterflies. She’d feed you by hand and wash your body herself—with her tongue, probably. You’d want for nothing.”

Thor twisted his head for a kiss, upside down and off center, and licked away his brother’s teasing. “Except you.” 

Loki’s nails fell to his chest and clawed— _up, up_ —and Thor sat up straight, turned his face and found Loki’s mouth waiting. A proper kiss this time, messy and sweet.

“Do you know what I’m most afraid of?” Thor said, in the soft slip between their lips.

“What is that?” 

“Losing you.”

Loki’s hand played over his nipples. “I’m not going anywhere.” A pinch. “Unless you’re planning to banish me. If so, a little warning, please, so I can pack.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Thor hesitated, afraid to give his dark thoughts a voice. “But…I won’t have time for you when I’m king. Not like this. I won’t have hours to spend in your bed, to lock out the worlds and give myself only to you. When Asgard calls, I’ll have to answer.”

“And when I call?”

He cupped Loki’s calf. Squeezed. “I will come to you. When I can.”

Loki closed his eyes and Thor could feel him trembling, a low shake at the base like a young tree whipped by the wind. “I know you will, _søt dyr_. And I will teach myself to be contented with that.”

“Loki,” Thor said, a caress. “You know that I—”

His brother cut him off with a fierce, wild kiss, then another, and as the moon eased from one star to the next, Loki shoved him towards the hearth and tumbled from the chair and wound himself in Thor’s arms. An hour before, Loki had been astride his hips, writhing, beaming, his cock straining towards his belly as his cunt clutched at Thor, a silken fist. Now, he was stretched out in softness, spread across the furs before the fire and purring as Thor untied his robe, exposing all that pale, beloved skin to the light. Thor’s cock was hot against his thigh, sweating and undeniably eager at the sight of Loki’s own and, oh, seeing the wet, welcome shadow of his brother’s cunt beneath it was almost too much. He bent his head, supplicant, and did his best to worship.

“Oh,” Loki said, a startled, shocked sound. “Oh, darling.” He spread his thighs and pressed himself against Thor’s face, insistent. “Yes, just like that.  _Please_.” 

“I love you like this,” Thor murmured between long, slow strokes of his tongue, “so soft, still. So wet. Still tasting of me.” 

Loki’s body arched, a lovely, sinuous line that crested against the flutter of Thor’s mouth. "Do you forget so easily that I am yours?” His voice was thin, a flower pummeled by rain. “Have you a need to mark me like some possessive beast?”

Thor answered him with two fingers plunged, twisted, turned, and when he looked up, he expected to see pleasure in his brother’s face, stuttered bliss, but instead—

Instead, he saw pale eyes aflame, twin comets caught in furious flight even as Loki’s body writhed and it struck him then, oh, like a bolt to the heart: for all his careless airs, his flippant words, Loki feared the coming change just as he did. In a few weeks, their lives would undeniably be altered and what lay on the other side of his coronation, neither could say. Even the best of intentions had a way of slipping through one’s fingers like grains of sand—sometimes one by one, sometimes in a great, unexpected slide. No matter how much they loved each other, no matter what titles they wore, consort and king, there would soon be much about their lives over which they had no control.

He let his palms linger on Loki’s thighs and thought: did there have to be?

_What would you do if you were not almost-king?_

He dared himself to consider Loki’s question again, to look the notion full on in the face even as he lifted his head and kissed Loki’s stomach, his sides, the smooth space between his ribs. Was there truly a way to slip the chains of duty, of expectation—of his destiny, his forebound fate? Could he so easily set aside his responsibilities, his father’s name, and leave this place, the palace, his home? What would his life be like if it belonged to him alone?

What would it be like, some small voice in him whispered, to belong only to Loki?

Loki’s nails caught the crest of Thor’s shoulders and pulled— _up, up_ —and when Thor found his mouth, Loki sighed, a luxurious echo of want and affection that sank straight to Thor’s heart.

There would be no ceremony, no crown, no tide of realms that knelt beneath his feet, and yet—Loki bit his lip and grabbed his hips, greedy now, ready—and yet, he thought, to be loved by this creature, his mirror opposite equal, would give him purpose just as beautifully heavy as that of any king.

He eased into Loki’s body, a long, delicious slide, and at its end he found his brother’s cheek against his, his brother’s thoughts weaving themselves through his own.

 _You would leave Asgard?_ Loki’s mind whispered, incredulous.

_I would._

Beneath him, Loki bowed, an instrument straining to find just the right note. _You cannot be serious._

Thor kissed his neck, the long curve of his throat. _Perhaps I am_.

_Have you lost your mind?_

“If I have,” Thor breathed, “I have you to thank for it.”

Loki made a low, desperate sound. “Don’t say such things if you don’t mean them, brother. That’s not fair. That’s not fucking fair.”

Thor opened his mind wide, felt Loki rush in like a fog, feeling for cracks in his resolve. _Have I ever lied to you? About something that matters so much?_  

“No,” Loki murmured. “Never.” He bent his knees and raised his hips and then they were galloping, chasing each other towards the peak of the other’s pleasure. _But would you let your fear alone speak for you, brother?_

“It isn’t that—I’m not—”

 _You will be a magnificent king._ Loki stroked his head, let his nails linger there, digging. _The crown will sit well here. You will make the All-Fathers proud_.

They were slipping on the furs now, the skins damp with their fervor, and Thor could hardly breathe, so full were his senses: the smell of Loki’s skin, the sound of his wild, lovely noises, the soft velvet crush of his brother’s cunt as it quivered exquisite around him, and as he moved, he felt his brother’s hand wedge between them and catch the slim line of his cock, felt his breathing fall ragged.

“Loki,” he managed. “Beloved—”

 _All of the Realms will need you, darling. Your skill and your daring. Your mind and sometimes even your soul. But when your heart has need of me, remember that you need only ask. When your will waves, when you doubt, when you are taken by fear, know that I’m here for you,_ søt dyr. _Call_ _for me, brother, and I will always, always come_.

Thor’s thoughts unraveled and he knew only light—the heat of the fire, the burn of his brother’s thoughts, blinding white, drenched in love—and for a moment, as he shattered, poured all that he had into Loki’s beautiful body, he felt the weight of the crown on his head, the voices of all the Realms, and he knew that all would be possible with Loki at his side, their souls intertwined, the fate of all the worlds held between them.

There was heat between them, heat beneath him, and Loki’s pleasure was a shattered bell, the sound of a hundred stars falling, a wave ever reluctant to crest.

“Oh my dear,” Loki said, his voice thick like syrup, sweet. “You are terribly good at that, aren’t you?” 

Thor raised his head— _up, up—_ and kissed the fevered bloom of Loki’s cheek. “ _We_ , Loki. We are. It’s not my efforts alone." He tasted the soft curl of his brother's smile, gave back one of his own. "Nor will it ever be, my queen.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has been stuck in my WIP folder forever; finally decided to just let it go.


End file.
